


Her claim

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Marks, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 19:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16562045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia pauses at the threshold, watching Hannibal as he stands half naked by the counter and cuts fruits into segments, the marks on his back displayed proudly and shifting alongside his muscles as he moves.





	Her claim

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story, but it does not fit into my ficlet collections as it is set before their arrival in Lecter Castle, so I decided to post it as a stand-alone.

The red lines stand out brightly, emphasised by the light of the morning sun seeping through the kitchen window, like war paint meant to ward off the enemies. Or manifest property.

Bedelia pauses at the threshold, watching Hannibal as he stands half naked by the counter and cuts fruits into segments, the marks on his back displayed proudly and shifting alongside his muscles as he moves.

The marks she left on him last night.

A twinge of remorse makes her brows furrow; she had not expected them to be that noticeable. But then again, she did not really focus on their appearance yesterday as her nails scratched across his skin in the thralls of passion. They dozed off almost immediately, languid and sated, their warm bodies tangled like two serpents in hibernation, not willing to part for even a moment.

Her mouth twitches in disapproval of her own actions as she finally abandons her spot and walks towards Hannibal, each step placed with care as her legs still feel unsteady, bare feet silent against the stone floor.

“Good morning,” he says without turning, always able to recognise her by scent alone, one that no doubt lingers on his skin after last night like his most prized perfume as he rediscovers its notes afresh.

She stops next to him, examining her handiwork up close. Fingers reach out tentatively and touch the marks slowly, afraid they cause him pain, but Hannibal merely sighs with obvious delight at her caressing hand. She can clearly see the crescent-moon shapes of her nails where she dig into his flesh with force, as if afraid he would disappear in the midst of their pleasure and leave her fulfilment hollow like the nights she spent alone. The memories of his caresses always lingered within her mind but failed to leave her satisfied as she attempted to replace his touch with her own. But now he was there with her, the heat of his body melting hers, carrying her into blissful oblivion, stronger than ever before. She expects the ghosts of her ear-splitting cries to still echo along the walls of their bedroom.

Pensive, she continues to trace the red lines with her feather like brushes, his skin warm to her touch, until Hannibal’s arm reaches behind and wraps itself around her waist, shifting smoothly over the silk of her robe, finding its purpose without looking as he pulls her in his embrace. He smiles while holding her close, the knife placed aside, bowls of fruits at ready, waiting for her appraisal.

“I am sorry,” she utters, still frowning, while her hand absentmindedly moves to his lower back and the misshaped path of skin which the brand seared. Many people have tried to assert their possession of him, in one way or another.

“What for?” he smiles wider, with tender affection, and takes her hand to place it back on the marks she left on him. Her fingertips begin to stroke them gently once more.

“I adore it when you stake claim of what is yours,” he says as if reading her thoughts, “I am yours, Bedelia.”

An unexpected quiver rushes under her skin, settling itself in her core, and the fingers sink into his flesh instinctively, with awakened passion. Hannibal groans, his arms wrapping firmer around her frame as he leans forward to press his lips on her collarbone. The heartfelt kiss is followed by a graze of his teeth on her skin, delicate and questioning, waiting for her permission. She sighs, surrendering into his arms and caress, her silent acknowledgment. The teeth sink deeper.

She is his as well.


End file.
